Figuring it out: the first-generation law student's journey

The Return Offer

Like every law student, I started my 2L summer job hoping and praying for a return offer. But, as they say, be careful what you wish for.

For the first three weeks of my summer job, I came home and cried in bed. I was exhausted from working nine-hour shifts, sitting alone in a cubicle, and having my complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD) triggered from being back home. Despite knowing deep down I didn’t want to return home after graduation, I worked hard and smiled through the pain to earn my return offer.

As a first-generation and low-income law student, a return offer represents so much more than just a job after graduation. It is the reassurance of a steady income to help support my family and myself. It is proof that I am capable, that I belong, and that I am building a future I have worked so hard to create. 

So, I worked overtime, paid for my own lunches even when partners invited me to join them, and kept my complaints to myself. I socialized, I bonded, and I gave it my all. When my summer job ended, I left feeling a mix of satisfaction and uncertainty, knowing I wouldn’t find out the status of my return offer for weeks, maybe even months.

The Advisor

While I waited, I knew I needed advice. I carefully chose an advisor from Career Services whose bio showed experience in the type of work I wanted to pursue. I thought I had chosen the best one for me, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

When I explained my summer experience and how I couldn’t go back for personal and professional reasons, their solution was: “You could always go back but not live at home.”

I was speechless. I had just explained how, as the eldest daughter in an Asian family, I’m expected to live at home and support my family. Moving out isn’t just a choice, it’s a balancing act. I thought finding a job elsewhere would help me move forward without hurting my family.

Despite their lack of empathy and cultural understanding, the advisor said one useful thing: “Come back once you’ve heard about your return offer, and we’ll use it to find something better.” I trusted them.

Weeks later, I got my return offer. I felt relief, disappointment, and fear. On one hand, I had security. On the other hand, I knew I couldn’t go back home without a fight.

I returned to Career Services, hopeful I could finally leverage my return offer like they’d suggested. Instead, I was met with a blank stare. They didn’t remember our conversation, their advice, or the hope I’d placed in them.

When I asked what I could do, they shrugged. “It’s too late,” they said. “Most jobs during 3L come from networking and connections.” Those were things that I, as a first-generation student, didn’t have much of.

Still clinging to hope, I asked how to break into estate planning. That’s when they delivered the final blow. They said it’s a tough practice area to enter because most attorneys are sole practitioners or work in small firms that rarely hire new attorneys. Instead of helping me strategize, they looked at me like I was crazy and asking for too much.

But isn’t that their job? To help students like me?

I left their office disappointed and scared. I had wasted valuable time waiting to reach out to firms because I followed their advice. The practice area I wanted to pursue felt like an exclusive club I wasn’t invited to. And worst of all, it felt like my path forward was closing in on me…I might have no choice but to return home.  

Like those first three weeks of my summer job, I came home and cried.

The Harsh Reality

Law school is not designed with first generation students in mind. In fact, the Law School Survey of Student Engagement (LSSSE) reports that only 29% of law students identify as first-generation, with students of color being disproportionately represented among first-generation law students compared to our white peers. Yet, the legal education system rarely acknowledges our unique challenges or provides the support we need to thrive.

This isn’t just about law school, it is about the systemic barriers that make certain professions feel like exclusive jobs. Jobs like lawyer and doctor are among professions most likely to be “passed down” through family connections, leaving first-generation students at an inherent disadvantage. 

So, how do we navigate a world that isn’t built for us? We figure it out, just like we always do.

As first-generation students, we are no strangers to resilience. We’ve taught ourselves how to navigate unfamiliar systems, overcome obstacles, and find solutions. It’s in our DNA to adapt, learn, and push forward.

We figure it out because we have no other choice. We figure it out because we are driven not just by our own dreams but by the hopes of our families and communities. We figure it out because we believe in our ability to pave the way for ourselves and for those who come after us. 

I am still figuring it out but I did reach out to a first-generation alum from our law school. I had met her by chance at an event, and she had always been willing to help. She gave me the encouragement I needed to negotiate for a higher salary and navigate this experience with my best interests at heart. She reminded me that even when the system lets us down, there are people in our corner who understand what it’s like to fight against the odds.

This experience reinforced what I’ve always known: first-generation students find ways to lift ourselves and each other up. We may not have inherited networks or built-in connections, but we create them. We build the bridges we need, and when we cross them, we reach back to help others do the same.

It’s not just about surviving; it is about creating a path forward together.

The Message

I hope this experience will also serve as a reminder to law schools that their first-generation students are being neglected. 

Before you parade around the number of first-generation students in your incoming class, take a moment to ask: are you truly supporting them? Are you providing the resources they need to thrive in an environment that wasn’t built with them in mind?

First-generation alumni should not have to step in to do the job of Career Services. Their willingness to help is a testament to their resilience and empathy, but it also reflects a gap in institutional support. Law schools must do better. They must acknowledge the systemic barriers their first-generation students face, from navigating cultural expectations to lacking inherited networks, and create actionable strategies to help them succeed.

Because when institutions fall short, first-generation students are left to figure it out on their own, just like we always have. And while we’ll keep rising to the challenge, we deserve better. We deserve a system that not only celebrates us but actively invests in our success.